


For Enemies

by Meraki_Mason



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Crying, Ficlet, Gen, Mild Blood, My First AO3 Post, Near Death Experiences, One Shot, POV Draco Malfoy, Panic Attacks, Sectumsempra Scene | Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter's Duel in the Bathroom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26177968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meraki_Mason/pseuds/Meraki_Mason
Summary: Draco doesn't want to die at all. But if he is going to, he would rather only do it once.
Kudos: 28





	For Enemies

_Breathe._

_Breathe._

_God—_ he would give anything to breathe. 

Flashes of heat tore through his entire body. His blood had transfigured into molten lava. His vision was burnt at the edges. And he was suffocating. Slowly suffocating. 

_Breathe. Breathe. Breathe..._

Clutching onto the edge of the sink to keep himself standing, he stared into the darkness of the drain and let his mouth hang open, hoping that oxygen would somehow find its way to his lungs. But the effort was futile. His throat felt like it was closing—slowly closing—and with each inhale it felt more and more like he was sucking in air through a straw.

The sweater vest around his torso suddenly felt far too tight; he yanked it over his head and tossed it aside with such urgency that one might have assumed it was the thing burning him. With a trembling hand, he reached forward and turned on the tap. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and for a moment, he met the eyes of his pitiful reflection. His only coherent thought before his mind returned to all-consuming panic: “How did I get here?”

Quickly, as if his life depended on it, he cupped both hands under the steady stream of water and doused his face with it. The relief from the maddening heat coursing beneath his skin was sweet but temporary, and he couldn’t afford to keep cutting off his breath, not even for a half second at a time.

He grabbed the sides of the sinks on either side of him as a soft sob shook his frame, then another. His instinct was to choke them down, but they helped him to breathe. And he was desperate for air, more desperate than he was about keeping his dignity intact. That’s when he heard a voice.

“Don’t,” it pleaded softly, “Don’t... Tell me what’s wrong... I can help you,” it assured him. Or rather, she assured him. Moaning Myrtle. He dipped his head to hide his tears as a labored breath slipped past his throat. 

“No one can help me,” he replied brokenly. “I can’t do it...”

The realization struck him like a tidal wave. How had he _ever_ believed he could go through with it? 

“I can’t...it won’t work...and unless I do it soon—“ His upper half listed forward as a soft wail broke through his lips. “He says he’ll kill me...”  
And he was afraid, he added in his head. Snape was right. He was scared. His choices were murder or death, and he didn’t want to die, least of all by Voldemort’s hand. But he couldn’t tell her that. He was sworn to secrecy unless he wanted his parents to suffer too.

But they would suffer greater if he failed, a voice in his head whispered. They all would.

His heart clenched painfully inside his chest at the reminder; his breath failed him again. He choked down large gulps of air in an attempt to return to normalcy. Miraculously, it did seem to help, but when he raised his head, a new kind of horror awaited him.

There, staring at him in the mirror, stood Harry Potter.

Draco spun around instantly, anger now mingling with the fear in his chest. What had he seen? What had he _heard?_ Why did Potter just have to make everything _worse_!? He cast the first hex that came to his mind and prayed for it to find its mark, but Potter dove out of the way and cast a spell of his own. He saw it coming and blocked it easily. But the fight was far from over. He couldn’t let Potter leave the room.

Myrtle screamed at them, begged them to stop, but he ignored her, casting a Bombarda next. His aim was off, and the spell hit the rubbish bin. _Damnit!_ He couldn’t afford to let Potter get away! His life—the lives of his parents—were at stake!

Potter’s curse also missed. Something exploded; the floor was soaked within seconds. There was a brief opening as Potter struggled to stay standing upright on the slippery tiles.

This was his chance.

He had to do it.

He had to _mean_ it.

He grit his teeth and grimaced in expectation. “Cruci—!”

“SECTUMSEMPRA!”

Claws raked down his face, across his neck, into his chest. White-hot, searing pain, the likes of which he’d never known, shot through his skin, right to the bone. He collapsed onto the floor, and this time, he truly was unable to breathe. The gushing water turned into a dull roar in his ears as Potter appeared over him. His lips moved as he knelt by his side, but Draco couldn’t hear what he was saying.

“MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER!” Myrtle screeched, but even her voice seemed a thousand miles away.

Murder... So this was it then. He was going to die, just not how he’d expected. And for some reason, he wasn’t afraid anymore. Quite the opposite, in fact... He was rather at peace. His lungs still struggled for breath, his hands still grasped at his chest in a vain attempt to stop the flow of blood, but his mind, disconnected from his body, was still and calm.

At least now, he wouldn’t have to kill anyone. He could die with his soul intact.

Oh, but Potter...

Potter will have killed him, he realized. And Draco pitied him—his worst enemy.  
He truly did. But better Potter than him. 

A muffled thud sounded near the entrance. Potter, a mere silhouette now, was violently shoved out of Draco’s waning sight. A new figure took his place. The person said something, a short, musical phrase, but he barely registered the words. The pain returned at full force, and if he’d had the voice for it, he would have screamed at them to stop. But, just as swiftly as it had struck, the pain began to fade again. The flowery phrase was repeated by the stranger twice more; Draco couldn’t make out his face, but he’d recognize that deep, monotonous voice anywhere. 

_Snape._

The pain still lingered as the potion’s master hauled him to his feet, though it was minor compared to before. Snape murmured something in his ear, but Draco couldn’t make it out. His senses were still clouded. 

He let his head hang low as he was dragged toward the door. Potter’s watery reflection winked back up at him, a final taunt.

He had failed. Voldemort was going to kill him. And it would be worse...so much worse.

_He wished he’d been left to bleed out on the bathroom floor._


End file.
